


The First Time

by Jester85



Series: The First Time-verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One Night Stands, Period-Typical Homophobia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jester85/pseuds/Jester85
Summary: What it says on the tin.Closeted gay 1930s Brooklyn artist Steve Rogers, tired of denying his forbidden lusts (a little "purple prose", maybe), gets bold one evening and decides he wants a guy he picks up at an underground bar to swipe his V card.This Steve and Bucky did not grow up together.





	The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Some allusions to period typical homophobia/terminology and internalized homophobia. Specifically, Steve has stereotypical ideas of what gay men are like (despite or perhaps partially because of being one himself) due to period typical views and assumptions.
> 
> Also partially modeled after Daniel Radcliffe losing his virginity in Kill Your Darlings.

Steven Grant Rogers was frustrated.

Frustrated about being six feet of spirit in a five foot body.

Frustrated about being riddled with a laundry list of health problems and never having the money for half ~~most~~ of them.

Frustrated about his career as an artist not taking off, about getting let go from the odd jobs he manages to scrape up, because no one wants an employee who has to take off sick all the time, who can't lift the same loads as dime-a-dozen strong healthy young guys, the strapping boys and dock workers he regards with a combination of envy and lust.

But maybe most of all, Steve is frustrated about being queer, about knowing he's queer, and about being a young man with the same hormones and curiosity and drive to figure himself out as anybody else and being afraid of doing anything about it.

So one night, Steven Grant Rogers says _fuck it_ \---but only in his own mind, because Sarah Rogers raised her boy better than that, and he still has enough Catholic guilt clinging to him like a shadow on his skinny shoulders---and goes marching with determination down to a bar good Catholic boys don't go to, even though it's actually only a block around the corner from his crummy little flat, and he sits on a bar stool and orders a drink and sees what happens.

What happens is one of those strapping, hunky boys who are painfully out of his league, except the tall brunette is looking at him, and Steve actually glances over his shoulder like the awkward dork that he is, because this guy looks like a movie star, he could have any pretty girl on his arm he wanted, and this guy doesn't look queer, he's tall and handsome and strong-looking, like the kind of guy you're supposed to be, and Steve just looks back warily, wondering whether this guy knows where he is.  Maybe he just stumbled into the first bar he saw looking for a drink, and doesn't know he's in a queer joint, any minute now that gorgeous face will twist in shock and disgust and he'll either storm out or Steve will get beat up. 

Steve stares back, defiant.  He's been beat up plenty.  And he's queer, and he's at a queer bar with other queers, just having a drink and maybe hoping to get laid like any straight guy or gal.  He ain't hurtin' nobody.  If this guy is some queer-hating dumb meathead, he's the one who's where he doesn't belong.

The guy stares, and Steve stares back.

Then a soft, sweet smirk comes over the guy's pouty lips, and Steve is thrown, nonplussed.  He knows how to deal with any reaction but that.

The guy saunters over, all easy confidence, like someone who's done this before, and he says hi in a soft cool voice that goes straight to Steve's dick--- _hey, he's a guy too_ \---and he asks Steve's name, and he says his name is Bucky.

It occurs to Steve maybe two seconds after handing over his real name to a handsome stranger that "Bucky" sounds made-up, and maybe he should have made somethin' up too, what if this guy is an undercover cop, a real looker sent in to entrap all the dirty horny queers, but it's too late now.

And Bucky's smile is soft and sweet and his voice is a husky purr, and his eyes are on Steve like he's the only thing in the world, and Steve has no clue why a guy like this who could have any woman he wants is in a queer bar chatting up a scrawny runt of a fella, but the alcohol and Bucky's voice are warming the blood in his veins, and he came here to be bold, and he's tired of being a virgin and he's tired of being afraid to know what it's like to be with a man.

They end up back in Steve's crummy little flat with the mold on the walls that's bad for Steve's asthma and the stained ceiling and the little narrow cot that's small even for him, and he's afraid Bucky will see what a loser he's picked up, but Bucky shows no reaction.

It's harder to keep feeling bold when he has Bucky standing, naked and unashamed, in front of him, waiting patiently for Steve to undress, harder when his suspenders are sliding down and his trousers are unbuttoning, and harder still when he's standing in front of Bucky in his underwear, ninety pounds soaking wet, the taller man probably counting every rib, and Steve waits for the sneer of disgust, for Bucky to gather up his clothes and go, but Bucky's eyes are soft and warm, and he's just waiting for Steve.

Steve is confused how a man like Bucky could want a man like this, now laid bare in front of him, but Mama said don't look a gift horse in the mouth, and Steve Rogers doesn't back down from a fight.  It's now or never, his underwear the only thing between him and Bucky now, and he holds Bucky's gaze as he slides them down.

Bucky doesn't bat an eye.

Steve is frankly terrified now, turning off the lamp by his cot and laying on his belly, trying to control his racing heart and breath, because the only thing that could make this more mortifying is having an asthma attack while trying to give himself to someone, and he feels Bucky's heavy weight settle on the bed right behind him, and hands on his hips, raising them up, and suddenly _no, not like this,_ maybe he's romanticizing it, but he wants to see Bucky, he wants his first time to feel more intimate, not just laying there getting taken, and he grabs and stills the palm, warm and soft, on his bony hip, and Bucky lets him turn over until he's laying on his back under Bucky, and Bucky just smiles and gently tugs at Steve's knees, pulling them up and kneeling between them. 

Steve isn't sure what to expect, he's hoping it won't hurt too much--- _other guys do this, people wouldn't do this if it was so bad, would they?---_ but Bucky's touch is knowing, assured.  He knows what he's doing, he's obviously done this before even if Steve hasn't, and Steve doesn't resist as Bucky palms a jar of Vaseline to make it slick, as he touches Steve in places Steve's never been touched before, and finally as he leans down over him until his tousled hair brushes Steve's forehead, looking straight into Steve's eyes, patient and gentle, as if waiting for permission, and Steve swallows, breathes, plucks up his courage, reaches up and guides Bucky's mouth down to his.

It still hurts when Bucky pushes inside him, white knuckle grip in tangled sheets and gritted teeth, but damn it Steve wants this, he's wanted it for a while, and they keep kissin', and slowly their kisses grow more hot and passionate, Steve catching Bucky's bottom lip between his teeth and savoring Bucky's groan.

It dissolves into a kind of hot, sweaty blur, Bucky's hands on his hips to give his thrusts leverage, Bucky's tongue in his mouth and hair falling down and kissing Steve like he loves him.

Sex, Steve realizes, even with someone who seems like he knows what he's doing like Bucky, is kind of awkward and messy and over in a few minutes.  The heavens don't open and birds don't sing and there's not a choir of angels.  There's the the sound of skin against skin and pants of breath under the rhythmic creak of bedsprings, and Bucky's lips against his own, increasingly messy and frantic, Steve rising up to meet his heated kisses, something rising within him, up and up and up...

It's awkward again, after.....well, just _after._

Steve doesn't know how to feel about what he's just done.  He feels like he's just taken a great big leap into the canyon he's been teetering on the edge of for God knows how long, and there's no taking it back, and he's still Catholic enough to not know how he feels about it.

Shrugging back on his suspenders, moving a little gingerly around the soreness---it's not that bad, nothing that he couldn't have realistically expected, but it's still there---and still not quite knowing what to make of the goddamned movie star he's got in his crummy bedroom, still shirtless, trousers up but unfastened, taking a post-coital drag on a cigarette.  The overwhelming passion and enthusiasm Bucky had given him on that creaky little bed is fading now, and Steve gets dressed feeling like he's doing a walk of shame out of his own apartment, wondering if Bucky just got rejected by his girl tonight and skipped over to where he knew he could find a piece of ass, even happening on a scrawny little twig of a man who might have been easier to pretend was a dame.

'Cept Bucky looks over at him and smiles, eyes bright and mouth soft and hair tousled, and then he leans in and kisses Steve, soft and sweet, like they're lovers instead of ships passing in a hot Brooklyn night.

"Hey," Bucky says, lazy Brooklyn drawl coming in thick like the smoke, "I like you."

Steve frowns, because what's Bucky playin' at, he doesn't have to do the sweet act anymore now that he got what he wanted, and Bucky just huffs a chuckle.

"You're not good at acceptin' compliments, are ya Stevie?"

 _Stevie._ The pet name rolls off Bucky's tongue like he's said it a thousand times, like they're some old queer couple shacked up in here.

"Guess I'm not used to them," he says guardedly, still eyeing Bucky like he's trying to puzzle him out.

Bucky tilts his head, falling down in his eyes, looking at Steve kinda the same way.  "How has no guy ever told you how fuckin' gorgeous you are?"

Steve wasn't sure what he expected Bucky to say, but it wasn't that, and what the _fuck_ is this guy playin' at, Steve ain't givin' it up to him twice in a row just 'cause he tries to sweet talk him like a dame, and his back is up, and "Prolly 'cause it's bullshit," comes snapping out of his mouth before he even thinks what to say.

Bucky looks slightly taken aback, but there's a glint of pity in his gaze, and Steve hates that more than anything, and he kinda wants Bucky to leave, go crawling back to the beautiful dame he probably has waitin' for him somewhere, except Bucky says "That may just be the furthest thing from bullshit I have ever said in my life."

But Steve is riled up and in fight mode now, and he's irrationally feelin' a little used and dirty, even though he picked up Bucky and brought him home, hell you could say he used Bucky, and he snaps, "That kinda talk get girls into bed, or just queers like me?"

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up into his hair.  "Well, I dunno, Stevie," he shoots back with an easy shrug and that damn charming little smirk that manages to look cocky without being smug about it, "I don't really like gettin' girls in bed, seein' as how I'm a queer too, which I woulda thought would be kinda obvious, considering...."  He trails off with a little jerk of his head to the tangled sheets on the little cot behind them.

Steve's mind is reeling a little bit.  A guy, not a skinny little fairy like Stevie Rogers, but a real guy, casually admitting to being queer, not just foolin' around or going somewhere he could get laid because his girl denied him for the night, but a real queer like him?

"Is your real name Bucky?" he asks warily.

Bucky wipes his palm on his trousers before extending it to shake, which seems laughably formal after everything they've done on that bed.  "James Buchanan Barnes.  If you call me James, you'll be the only one besides my mama, and frankly Stevie, I dunno if I want that association in my head."

Steve eyes the hand for a long lingering moment, eyes Bucky's earnest face for longer.  He's already taken one leap tonight....dare he take another?

Steve Rogers doesn't back down from a fight.

"Steve Rogers," he finally answers, shaking firmly. 

"Steve, I'd like to take you out on a date," Bucky says, cool as ever.

Steve opens his mouth, closes it.  Blinks.  "You.  Want.  To take me out.  On a date."

Bucky shrugs, grins a little sheepishly.  "What can I say, I'm a sucker for pretty little things with some spit and vinegar in 'em."

"I'm not a girl," Steve snaps, kneejerk.

"Um, yea, I did happen to notice, Stevie..."

"I mean, I'm not gonna be some replacement girl," Steve snaps, frustrated and wanting and confused and other things he can't articulate, "I'm not gonna be your _pretty little thing_ for you to pretend we're normal people."

Bucky steps in, eyes soft.  "Stevie.  I don't want a girl.  I want you.  And we are normal people.  What we did in that bed felt normal as anythin' to me, and I hope it did for you too.  Did it?"

Steve's thoughts flicked back over those few minutes of touching, kissing, thrusting.  It didn't feel wrong.  It felt, maybe just a little bit, like makin' love.

"Yes," he finally says, feeling like it's a confession to both Bucky and to himself.

Bucky looks relieved, like he was hanging on Steve's answer.  "Well I'm glad to hear it, Stevie.  'Cause I don't want to do somethin' that isn't wanted."

Steve looks at Bucky.  His loose-falling tousled hair.  His soft, pouty lips.  His warm eyes.  Plucks up his courage.  Takes Bucky's face, brings it down so their mouths meet, arms winding around the taller man's neck. 

It feels natural as anything.  Like something they always should have been doin'.

"So where we goin' on that date?"

Pure delight sparks in Bucky's eyes, and he swoops in grinning to plant another one on Steve.

Steve kisses back.

They might not end up getting around to that date for a while.  Neither of them minds too much.

 


End file.
